


Honorary Skeleton

by kaliawai512



Series: It's Raining [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Asgore's not in this, Child Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Platonic Relationships, War, attempted genocide, believe it or not, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaliawai512/pseuds/kaliawai512
Summary: Ten years before the war that would exile monsters from the surface, a little human girl met a little skeleton boy.Ten years before the war, Gaster met the girl who would shape his view of humans for the rest of his life.Ten years before the war, Ebba met the skeleton who was, and would always be, her best friend.Prequel toIt's Raining Right Here. Formerly titledIt's Raining In Between.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> And so the short story collection begins! The first of the batch: Gaster’s backstory. Next to come: Chara, Patience, Kindness, Papyrus and Undyne, and Sans and Toriel.
> 
> Based on the dress styles and geography of the silhouettes in the beginning of the game, I’ve loosely based the people in this story on ancient Anglo-Saxon culture, though not any one in particular. I’m not ultra-familiar with this period in history, so I apologize for the inevitable massive inaccuracies. This culture also takes inspiration from the tribal cultures around the world which traditionally accepted and celebrated those on the LGBTQ+ spectrum (cultures typically erased by cis-white historians). Therefore, the transgender character in this story deals with dysphoria and issues regarding puberty (in a time when HRT was far in the future), but not the societal prejudices/discrimination/violence transgender people face in many cultures nowadays.
> 
> I also apologize in advance for any inaccuracies or disrespect in my portrayal of a trans person - the fact that she is trans isn’t a major part of the story, but she still is trans and, as mentioned above, experiences struggles a trans person might deal with while growing up. While I’ve done my best to research trans experiences and present this character respectfully, I am still cis, so if you notice any mistakes/inaccuracies/ANYTHING that is offensive or inaccurate, please let me know so I can correct them! Thank you!
> 
> And believe it or not, the OC's name is a variation on a real Anglo-Saxon name, which I picked at random.

The sun had already passed almost the whole way across the sky when she heard someone coming.

It wasn’t anyone she knew. Or, at least, she didn’t think so. The footsteps were heavier, yet softer, and they shuffled along unlike any of the feet she had heard before.

It wasn’t until the feet stopped just to her side that she considered they might not be human, and by then, the stranger was already kneeling next to her, hands brushing over her arms and legs, as if checking her.

She stiffened and winced when a hand—was it a hand? It was covered in fur—touched one of the bruises on her shoulder, but rather than pressing into it, the hand jerked back. It returned a second later, somehow warmer than before, and when it touched her, she felt relief spread through the spot that hurt, and a long, heavy sigh slipped past her lips.

The hands kept moving, smoothing over every ache and pain, even ones she hadn’t noticed before. Even the aches _inside_ her felt better, what she suspected had been broken bones knitting themselves back together like mending a piece of cloth.

She had heard of it before, in stories, but she had never seen it. She had heard of the magic that could heal wounds that might take half a moon cycle to heal otherwise, or never heal at all, and often not even leave a scar.

Magic that could wound just as easily. Magic that could kill, should the user wish it to.

Magic beyond what any human could perform.

She wanted to open her eyes and watch it. Who knew if she would have the chance to see it again. But her eyes still ached, though whether from injuries or tiredness, she wasn’t sure, and she couldn’t bring herself to open them.

At last, the hands pulled back, but rather than leaving her, two furry arms slid under her body and lifted her into the air. She flinched, but found the thing’s—person’s—hold gentle, and their chest just as comfortable as their hands.The last of the tension in her body began to slip away as the person carried her across the field where she had fallen, in the opposite direction of where her village lay.

“Do not fear, my child,” a voice above her murmured, gentle and caring. “I will take care of you.”

*

When she woke up, the first thing she heard was gibberish.

At least … it didn’t _sound_ like a language. Not one she had heard before, and though she only spoke one, she knew a bit about other tongues. No one in this area spoke another language that she knew of. How long had she been asleep? Had that person taken her very far away? How far could they go on foot? Could they travel with magic as well as heal with magic?

Her eyes still hurt, but this time, it was only with fatigue, and she forced her way past it, squinting her eyes open as slowly as possible, so as not to draw attention to whoever was speaking.

She was in a hut. Or … something like a hut. It was covered, and it looked to be made of some sort of plants, unlike the animal skin her own people used to build some of their homes. It was small, but not so small that a few more people couldn’t easily fit.

But there weren’t any other people. She was alone.

Alone in the hut, at least.

But there was someone talking outside.

Speaking in that gibberish language.

It … he? … sounded worried. Worried, but interested. It sounded like a boy, but it also sounded young, young enough that it was hard to tell the gender. Maybe a little younger than her? Or older? It would be easier if he—no, they, maybe it wasn’t a boy at all—spoke a language she understand. What _was_ that language, anyway?

Finally, the voice stopped, cut off by another voice sighing.

“Gaster, please, I can’t understand you if you’re not signing.”

A pause. There was no more gibberish, and she could only guess that the first person had been signing instead of talking.

“Yes,” the second voice replied. “Yes, I believe so.”

Another pause. Then there was movement, and a form stepped up to the entrance to the tent. Before she could think of closing her eyes and pretending to be asleep, its eyes fell on her.

Only as it stepped inside could she see it clearly.

It was … a goat.

Or … a goat-like thing. It had short horns and white fur and long floppy ears.

But … it stood up like a human. It wore clothes.

It _smiled._

“Hello, my child,” it said, and the voice sounded just like the women from her village. “How are you feeling?”

She swallowed, then swallowed again, her throat drier than she had expected.

“I’m … I’m okay,” she replied. Bit by bit, she made the connections, shifting her body and noticing that the pain had disappeared. She had hurt before, she was sure of that. There were no bandages on her, and she didn’t feel the wetness of any remedies on her skin. She looked at the goat woman, and the final piece clicked into place. She had heard the stories, even if she had never seen it herself. “Thank you for healing me.”

It was, in a way, a question, and she got her answer when the goat woman smiled a little wider.

“Of course.”

Silence. Then the goat woman’s smile slipped, and she cleared her throat.

“May I ask … how you were injured?”

Even though all her wounds had been healed, she swore she still felt the lingering ache as her body stiffened. She pressed her lips together, but before she could speak, or even shake her head, the goat woman lifted her hands as if to calm her.

“Very well. That is fine.” The tension disappeared. The goat woman smiled again, a little sadder than before. “My name is Toriel. I suppose you have already guessed that I am a monster.”

She looked away, shifted, and gave a small nod. When she looked back, the goat woman—the monster—was smiling, though with a nervous edge, and if she still wasn’t sure if her response was positive.

“May I ask your name?” she asked.

Another pause, shorter than before. “… Ebba.”

Toriel grinned, and it was a real grin this time, pleased and friendly and so warm it made Ebba feel like she had just eaten a whole bowl of hot soup.

“Ebba. That’s a lovely name,” she said. “How old are you, Ebba?”

Ebba shifted again.

“… six.”

Toriel nodded. Her eyes looked sad. Ebba wondered how bad she had looked when Toriel had found her, and how long it had taken her to heal her. Then her brow furrowed as another memory, more recent, hit her.

“There was … someone else out there,” she went on after a few seconds. She glanced toward the entrance of the hut. “I heard them. They were speaking a … weird language.”

Toriel straightened up, but smiled again a second later.

“Oh yes.” She turned to face the entrance. “Gaster? Come in and meet our guest.”

A few moments passed. Ebba leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the person who had apparently been listening in on them this whole time. It was rude, but she didn’t feel offended. Just curious.

Finally, very slowly, a small figure, no taller than herself, stepped in. At first, she thought it was just very pale, like one of the children in her village who had been born with white hair and eyes bluer than anyone else’s.

It took a moment for her to realize that the figure didn’t have skin.

Just … bones.

Leg bones and arm bones poking out of a light brown tunic, and a skull at the top, stretched out a little taller than a human’s head would have been, the holes where his eyes should have been wide and black, one of them drooping down, both of them with little white lights glowing deep within. The bones around his mouth clenched like a person’s lips would, so the line of his teeth was pressed tight together.

She didn’t know how she could tell, but she thought he looked nervous.

“This is WingDings Gaster,” Toriel cut in, before either of them could stare any longer. “I believe most everyone calls him Gaster. He’s a skeleton monster.”

Ebba glanced again at the person—boy?—now fidgeting near the entrance. She cleared her throat.

“Yeah, I … I can tell.”

If Toriel noticed her awkwardness, she said nothing about it. “I’m not sure if you know this, but skeletons each speak in their own unique font, which is also how their names are chosen. Some skeletons speak in fonts that are … not understandable to non-skeletons. It is the same language, but most of us cannot understand it. Gaster uses sign language to communicate with non-skeletons if there isn’t another skeleton around to interpret. I don’t suppose you know any sign language?”

Ebba shook her head. She barely knew anything about sign language, aside from the signs her village’s storytellers used to recount old tales. Certainly not enough to really talk to someone. But Toriel didn’t look disappointed, or even surprised.

“Well, if you’d like to learn, it is very simple,” she replied. “I expect your village will be missing you, but you were hurt quite badly, so I recommend that you stay a bit longer to rest. I could teach you a few words before you leave, if you would like.”

Ebba wasn’t sure how to say no to that, so she just nodded. It made Toriel smile, so it didn’t feel like such a bad thing.

So Ebba sat there while Toriel went over a few basic signs—how to say hello, please, thank you, monster, human, and a few other words Ebba asked about out of curiosity. Gaster didn’t say anything, either in sign or in his weird language, but after a little while, he stepped in further and sat down on the ground, his thin legs tucked beneath him. He watched them, not staring, just looking on with something like curiosity.

Toriel insisted that she eat something before she began her journey, and as soon as the words left her mouth, Ebba noticed the clenching of her own stomach, and when the food was placed in front of her, it was all she could do not to eat until she threw up.

It didn’t help that the food was some of the best she had ever had.

She tried to sign a few words to Gaster as she ate, but instead of signing back, he just stared at her, as shy and nervous as he had been when he came into the room. Toriel assured her that he just had trouble talking to new people. Ebba wasn’t upset. She watched him during the rest of her meal, and when she gestured for him to take some of the food, he finally reached forward and took a few bites for himself.

They walked her to the edge of the village, Toriel explaining which way she should walk to find her own village. Ebba wasn’t paying much attention—she was far more interested by the monsters around her, monsters that seemed to melt as they moved, monsters with fur, monsters with scales, tall monsters and small monsters, of every color and shape and size. She had seen monsters before, many times, but it was always from a distance.

They had looked a lot scarier from far away.

Toriel stood at the edge of the town, waving, as Ebba went on her way, while Gaster lingered at her side, staring in silence. Ebba smiled at him when she waved back, and she swore, just before she turned to walk home, that she saw him smile back.

* 

She probably should have asked Toriel how long she had been asleep before she left.

It might have prepared her for the response she received when she reached the village, her mother pulling her to her chest and sobbing into her hair, while her father asked gently, but desperately, what could have kept her away for three days.

She wanted to tell them about the monsters, about Toriel, about little Gaster that didn’t talk but somehow still seemed friendly. But as soon as she opened her mouth, she remembered how some of the villagers had told her that monsters were wicked, that she should never trust them, that they would hurt her if she got near them, that they could steal a human’s soul, that it was best that humans and monsters each kept to themselves and left each other alone. Not all of the villagers thought that, but the ones that did were loud, and people didn’t usually speak against them.

She wasn’t sure whether she was worried about those villagers chastising her for speaking well of the monsters, or worried that no one would believe her when she said they had actually been nice.

Either way, when she finally found her voice, she told them that she had walked too far and gotten lost, and it took her a long time to find her way home.

Her mother just hugged her again, while her father smoothed her hair and said he would spend more time teaching her how to find her way using the stars.

Ebba didn’t protest.

*

Ebba stayed in the village for six days after that, unless she was accompanying her father. It made her parents feel more comfortable, and besides, she liked the village. And after such a strange experience, it was nice to have a bit of familiarity.

But it didn’t take long for her curiosity to reappear.

Now that she had seen the monsters, she couldn’t get them out of her mind. They weren’t anything like she had imagined. And they had helped her. Her mother had told her, when she was very small, that while monsters weren’t as bad as some people said, they were … different from their people. Not all of them liked humans, and they might take the chance to hurt her or steal from her should they find her alone.

But they _did_ find her alone. And while monsters might not all be like Toriel, she got the feeling that a lot of them were.

Then there was Gaster. Shy, nervous Gaster. Gaster the kid. A kid like her.

She hadn’t thought of there being monster kids before.

So after six days, she slipped away late in the morning and trekked back along the path she remembered from before. When she saw the monster village in the distance, she sped up, almost breaking into a run, and only slowed down when she reached the first huts. Several monsters standing nearby caught sight of her right away. Their eyes widened, and they stared at her like they might look at a wild animal that had wandered onto their land. She stopped, drawing her arms close to her body and glancing from side to side.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe her mother had a good reason for telling her never to come near the monster village on her own. Maybe Toriel _was_ an exception. Maybe …

But before she could turn around and run off, she saw a familiar, white, furry head appear from behind one of the huts, and a few moments later, she found herself staring at Toriel’s familiar face, which broke into a smile the second she met her eyes.

“Ebba!” she called. “It’s so nice to see you again!”

And just like that, all of Ebba’s fear disappeared.

She walked into the village with Toriel at her side, and soon enough was sitting in that same hut, eating some sort of fruit-based dessert while they chatted about what Ebba had been doing since she left. Toriel had apparently considered going to the human village herself to make sure that Ebba had made it home safely, but knew that it might cause more trouble, showing up without a good explanation. Still, she had planned to do so if another few days passed without a sign of her.

Ebba found herself wishing that she had come back sooner, but Toriel didn’t sound angry at all.

“Gaster was worried about you as well,” Toriel went on.

Ebba blinked. “He was?”

“Oh, very much so,” Toriel replied, smiling. “In fact, you might say his concern goes _down to his bones._ ”

Ebba stared, face blank, as Toriel broke out into giggles. It took Ebba a few seconds to realize the joke, and by then, she was too surprised to laugh, but Toriel didn’t seem to mind.

She left a little while after that, but this time, she came back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

She saw Toriel. She saw other monsters, some whose names she learned and some who seemed too shy to approach her.

And she saw Gaster, even though he remained as silent as before, watching her from a distance no matter how much she would have liked to talk to him properly.

Bit by bit, faster than she would have thought possible, Toriel went from a stranger to a good friend. She made some of the best food Ebba had ever tasted. She was gentle, patient, and kind, and eager to listen to whatever Ebba had to say.

As it turned out, she made those wordplays a lot. Apparently she was known for them around the monster village. Some of the monsters rolled their eyes, but others laughed, and even though a lot of them were … far-fetched, Ebba found herself laughing along anyway.

The other monsters were nice. Most of them were quiet, and didn’t seem to know how to react to a human, but once they saw her with Toriel a few times, they relaxed, some of them even asking her about the human village. They knew as little about humans as she did about monsters.

They were nice. Not that her own people weren’t nice, but monsters … they didn’t scare her like some adults did, the adults that had less patience for children. Even most of the grown monsters talked to her like they might talk to another adult, kindly, gently. They didn’t talk down to her, didn’t assume that she had less to say because she was young.

It was new. And she liked it.

But the more days went by, the more she wished she could talk to the one monster who seemed to be doing his best to avoid her.

She _saw_ him plenty. He was never far away, sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She saw other skeleton monsters, too, but none of them spoke to her more than a little. She could understand most of them, but they didn’t seem as interested in her as the other monsters. They weren’t mean, just … quiet.

But not quiet like Gaster.

She tried to approach him, but every time he scurried away, only to come back when she was talking to someone else. She tried chasing him once, but while she was faster, he knew the village better, and knew where to hide. Besides, she didn’t want to scare him. She just wanted to talk.

She asked Toriel about it, but she just chuckled, shook her head, and said that Gaster was always like that. He would talk to her, sometimes, but he hardly spoke to anyone else. Even people who could understand him. Even other skeletons.

Toriel had probably meant to assure her that she didn’t need to try any harder.

Ebba took it as a challenge.

She left the village that day with her head held high, a smile on her lips as she planned out the next day as clearly as she could.

She was going to talk to him. One way or another.

* 

When she went to the village the next day, instead of lingering around the village, waiting for him to arrive, she made it a point to find him right away.

He was good at hiding, sure, but she was good at finding things, and it helped that most of the monsters seemed amused by her quest to hunt him down. It also helped that he apparently hadn’t expected her to come back so early in the day. She found him sitting on the boulder near the edge of the village, drawing with what she thought was berry paint on a large, thin stone. She watched him for a little while, then shouted his name to get his attention.

He jolted and fell off the rock.

She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or help him, so she did both.

He gave her a look that might have been angry, but it looked more like he was pouting. He let her help him up, but he didn’t talk, or even sign. She frowned, hesitating before she motioned toward the boulder.

“Can I … join you up there?”

Gaster glanced back at her, pausing before he gave a small, careful nod. He picked up the rock and the bowl of berry paint, though half of it had spilled on the grass. She felt a twinge in her chest. She knew how much of a pain that could be to make. Maybe she could help him make more. But he didn’t complain, and just climbed back onto the rock without a word, so she followed.

He didn’t start drawing again after she sat down. He just sat there, staring out at the village, at the line of the horizon. He looked like he was thinking. Ebba waited for what felt like a very long time, but he never spoke. Or signed.

Finally, something clicked in her mind, and she frowned.

“So … when I talk … you understand me fine, right?”

Gaster turned to her, the bone above his eyes scrunched up, like a human might scrunch up their brow. He nodded. Ebba licked her lips.

“And … when you talk … does it sound like regular … talking to you?” she asked.

He started to nod, then furrowed his browbone and shook his head. Then he tilted his head to one side and shrugged. Ebba hummed.

“Huh. Weird.” Gaster ducked his head. Ebba bit her lip and gave him a gentle nudge to get his attention. “That … isn’t a bad thing. I like weird things.”

He glanced at her. She smiled. He didn’t smile back, but his eyes softened, and when he looked away again, he didn’t seem upset.

“What does your name mean? WingDing Gaster?” she asked.

Gaster gave her a funny look. She raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t mean something in your language?”

He hesitated. Then he set the rock down beside him and motioned with his hand. She focused, trying to think back to when Toriel had gone over the basic signs. Had she taught her this one? Ebba thought she remembered it, it was …

“Talk …?” He smiled, nodded, then made another sign before repeating the first one. “Name talk?”

He smiled wider. He made a few more signs, none of which she knew. Ebba shook her head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But he kept making gestures, and even though they didn’t make sense, Ebba tried to pay attention. And after a few more moments, she started to get it. Little by little. She raised both eyebrows.

“Your name is … because of how you talk?”

He smiled wider than someone without skin should have been able to, nodding again. Ebba tilted her head.

“Wait … Toriel said that only some skeletons don’t speak … like humans do,” she said.

Gaster perked up more, though there was a hint of something embarrassed in his expression now.

She searched for the word. “You have your own … ‘fonts’?”

He nodded, but looked away.

“Your name is your … font?” she asked. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then nodded again. “Huh. That’s … that’s pretty neat, actually.”

He risked another glance at her, and when he found her smiling, he smiled back, smaller than before, but still pretty big. They stayed silent for a while after that. Gaster glanced at the half-empty bowl of paint and the rock, as if he might continue his drawing, but seemed to decide against it. Finally, she cleared her throat, pulling his attention back to her.

“So why does everyone call you Gaster?”

He gave her a funny look, then shrugged. Ebba licked her lips.

“Can I call you Wing?” He frowned. It wasn’t an upset frown, more like a confused frown. “I like Wing. It’s … I don’t know. I like it. Can I call you that?”

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he smiled, and gave her a small nod. She grinned back.

This time, Gaster—or, Wing—did go back to his drawing. She couldn’t really tell what it was, even when he pulled it up onto his lap to work on it. Maybe it was something from monster culture. What _was_ monster culture? Did they have their own stories? Did they believe in gods or goddesses, and if they did, were they the same ones as in her village? She wished he could tell her. She wished they could just … talk, like she talked to other people.

He couldn’t help how he talked, though. It wasn’t his fault. But …

“Hey … Toriel said that only, uh, ‘non-skeletons’ can’t understand how you talk,” she said. He looked up. “Does that mean other skeletons can?”

He got that embarrassed look again, but it wasn’t as bad as before. He nodded. Ebba spent a few moments chewing her lip.

“So you can just talk to them, out loud, and they understand you like they understand everyone else?” He nodded again, staring at on the rock in his lap. She leaned forward a little to try to see his face more clearly. “So why can’t I?”

Wing shrugged. She couldn’t tell if he really didn’t know or if he just didn’t want to talk about it. She _was_ a human, after all, and even though monsters had been nice to her so far, it was clear that not all humans and monsters got along. She still hadn’t dared to tell anyone in her village about her new friends. Maybe it was a skeleton secret, or something sacred to his people. She couldn’t blame him for hiding something like that.

But even if it was … maybe …

“What if I learned?”

The words hung in the air between them for a lot longer than she thought words could. Wing looked at her. Just … looked at her, and for a moment, she thought she had offended him. Maybe it really _was_ sacred to his people, and she was invading his privacy. But … he didn’t look upset. Not like someone in her village might have if she spoke badly of the gods or ruined a precious idol. Just … shocked.

Ebba swallowed and held herself as tall as she could.

“We met another tribe that didn’t use our language once,” she started. “We didn’t know them for very long, and we had to communicate with drawings and hand signals. But I talked to one of the elders, and he tried to teach me a few words in their language.”

Wing didn’t say anything, but the shock seemed to be slipping away as her words sunk in. She licked her lips again. They had already gone dry.

“What if I learned _your_ language?” she repeated. Wing raised one half of his browbone, and she shook her head. “Not speaking it, I don’t know if I could make those noises, but … just listening. So you could talk like you normally do, and you wouldn’t have to sign around me.”

His browbone smoothed out. She gave him a tiny smile.

“You don’t really like signing, do you?”

It was a jump, and she wasn’t sure whether she had guessed right. Skeletons couldn’t blush, but with the way he looked away and rubbed his arm, his cheeks might as well have been bright red. She smiled wider and sat up even taller.

“Okay. Then it’s settled. I’ll come meet you as much as I can, and you teach me your language,” she said. Wing stared at her. He hadn’t officially _agreed,_ and for a moment she feared that he would shake his head, insist that he didn’t want to spend that much time with her—or he didn’t really want to share his language with her. But slowly, the last bit of shock in his eyes died away, and it was replaced by a shy, hopeful smile. The tension in Ebba’s chest faded. She pushed herself off the rock and landed with a light thud on the ground below. “We need somewhere to meet.”

She heard the shifting of a rock and bowl behind her, and as she turned around, Wing dropped down next to her, already motioning for her to follow as he started off, away from the village. Ebba frowned.

“What? Where are you going?”

He motioned again, a little more insistent. She sighed, but smiled.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered, mostly to herself. She followed him without another word.

It wasn’t a long walk, but it was a place she had never gone before. She had never spent much time around the monster village in the first place, and while she had traveled further in the other direction from her home, she had never gone _past_ the monster village. But she followed him. She didn’t think he could hurt her if he wanted to, and she didn’t think he wanted to.

He slowed down as they reached the side of a rocky cliff. He climbed over some large rocks, and she followed, struggling a bit, as this path seemed more familiar to him. Finally, he stopped, holding his arm out to show her where to go, and she looked in the direction he pointed.

It was a cave. An ordinary cave, carved into the stone. Not too big, not too small. She took a step inside and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. There were no drawings, no signs that someone had claimed it before then. No signs of an animal living here either. It was a little like a large, undecorated hut.

Ebba didn’t realize how wide she was smiling until her cheeks began to ache. She turned to Wing and smiled wider still.

“It’s perfect, Wing. Our spot.”

Wing stared at her for a moment, then smiled back. Small, shy, but genuine. Ebba beamed.

Neither of them spoke for a long time, but somehow, it didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. 

* 

Ebba only realized that six moon cycles had passed when her mother gave birth.

The seasons seemed to last forever to her, and her father had once told her that when you were older, the seasons went by faster, faster and faster until just as you got used to it being spring it was already winter again. She wasn’t sure she believed him. It felt like she had known the monsters forever, but it had only been six moon cycles.

But six moon cycles was long enough for her mother’s stomach to go from nearly flat to bulging. Long enough for the baby inside her to decide it was time to see the world.

The women of the village had invited her multiple times to witness the birth, but she chose to wait outside with her father, fiddling with her fingers and chewing her lip and trying very hard not to think about what was going on inside. Every now and then, her father would smooth her hair down and tell her that her mother was strong, that she had given birth to one healthy baby and she could give birth to another. Ebba didn’t tell him that that wasn’t what she was worried about.

Finally, her mother’s cries stopped, and she heard a hitching, high-pitched cry.

When her father went inside and motioned for her to follow, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

She stood there, staring, silent, at the naked being resting on her mother’s chest. Her mother turned to her and smiled, tired and sweaty but so, so happy. She said something, but the only word Ebba could make out was “girl.”

Girl.

The baby was a _girl._

Ebba almost fell over, but she managed to stumble forward until she dropped to her knees in front of her mother. She stood there, waiting, as the baby nursed for the first time, and once she unlatched, her mother passed her over, gentle and careful, and Ebba took her in arms that had never felt so weak or so small.

Her little sister blinked up at her, eyes big and tired, and Ebba stared down in silence, taking in every bit of her.

A girl.

A girl.

She didn’t speak for the rest of the day, but it didn’t feel bad.

She waited a few days before she went to see Wing again. She had told him that things were busy around the village and she might not show up for a while, and not to wait for her. She helped out as much as she could, keeping herself busy and sneaking glances at the pudgy little face poking out of the blanket in her mother’s arms. When she finally slipped away, making the familiar trek to the cave, she had expected that she would need to go to the village to find him, let him know that they could return to their routine.

She found him standing near the entrance, leaning against the rock and staring at his feet.

When he saw her, he grinned so wide it was a little scary, and followed her inside without a word.

She didn’t tell him about the baby. She would, eventually. But right now, she just wanted a day with her friend.

They did a bit more of their “lessons,” which was what she called Wing talking about random things and making gestures to help her understand the words. It was slow work, and most days she didn’t feel like she had made any progress. But sometimes she found herself picking up a word or two, and even if it was all she understood, it was enough to convince her to keep trying.

After that, they picked up two large, flat rocks that they had been using for engraving practice, and got to work drawing symbols from each of their villages. She was considering asking Toriel to explain what Wing’s meant, since she couldn’t understand his explanation yet. She enjoyed monster culture, and she had visited the village more and more since she got to know Wing. It would be fun to know.

She paused in her own carving to watch him, his face scrunched in concentration, yet somehow content, even when he got frustrated. He liked being there with her. She knew that now. He liked it enough to wait for her even though he didn’t know if she was coming.

She wasn’t sure if anyone but her parents had liked her that much before.

“So why don’t you hang out with the other skeletons?”

The words were out of her mouth before she decided whether they were okay to ask, and by the time she wondered if it was the wrong thing to ask, he was already staring at her, his eyes wide and surprised. She licked her lips, fidgeted, and shrugged. No going back now.

“Every time I come to the village, you’re by yourself. I thought it was just ‘cause you were waiting for me, but … I don’t always come at the same time,” she went on. She paused, her brow furrowed. “You don’t know things before they happen, do you?”

Wing stared, then shook his head. Ebba shrugged again.

“I didn’t think monsters could do that, but … I don’t really know. I know there are some people in my village who say they do.”

She looked out at the cave entrance. She could just make out the horizon outside.

“I think some of them can. I’m pretty sure the others are lying.”

Wing didn’t say anything. She waited a little longer, sitting in silence, before she turned back to him.

“But why don’t you hang out with them?” she asked again. “I know there are other skeletons around here. I see them. And Toriel told me about them. But I … I never see you with them.”

The lights in his eyes dimmed a little. They were still there, but … softer, smaller. She had noticed how they seemed to change with his emotions. Not much, but when you spent enough time staring at his face it was hard not to catch it. He looked down. She frowned.

“You … have a family, right?”

He flinched, just a tiny movement, but she couldn’t miss it. She bit her lip.

“… sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just … I hardly know anything about you, and we’ve known each other for a while, and I … I wish I knew you better.”

He looked at her again, more confused than upset. She shook her head.

“I wish I could learn how you talk faster.”

She huffed a frustrated sigh, but said nothing else.

Wing didn’t speak. Even though she had asked him to talk as much as possible so that she could get used to his way of speaking, he still went quiet sometimes. But a few moments later, he crawled over and sat down even closer to her. He looked at her at first, not moving, before gently touching her arm.

It felt … weird. Hard and way too smooth and, well, like a _bone._ A human bone. Except … Wing wasn’t dead or injured. That was just his hand.

For the first time, she found herself wondering how weird she must feel to him.

He said a word then—one word, she was fairly sure—one she had heard before but hadn’t associated with a meaning yet. She furrowed her brow. He said it again, and she sighed and shook her head in defeat.

Then he lifted both his hands and made a clumsy sign. It took her a second to recognize, with how little he had been signing around her. But Toriel had taught her this back when they first met, and though she had forgotten almost all of those early lessons, she had remembered this.

_Friend._

He smiled at her, gently, as she looked back to him. He kept his hands up, as if he might need to sign it again. She couldn’t respond at first, except to keep staring at him. She barely felt the smile tugging up her own lips.

“Friend,” she repeated, breathy, her voice almost breaking.

He blinked. Then his smile widened, and he nodded. 

* 

“Ebba?”

Ebba looked up from her weaving, raising an eyebrow when she found Wing looking at her from his spot a few steps away. “Mm?”

He hesitated. He didn’t hesitate as much now, not like he used to. Only when he was nervous about something. After a long moment, he opened his mouth and started to talk, slow and clear like he did when he really wanted her to understand something. But despite her best efforts, she understood almost none of it.

 _Almost_ none of it.

“Why — hurt — ?”

She only picked out the two words, but they were the only two words she needed.

Especially when she had seen the same question on his face nearly every day since they met, even if he had never said it aloud.

She tugged her legs close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and stared at her feet.

Wing didn’t come any closer. He didn’t ask her again. He just sat there, watching from a safe distance, waiting for an answer, even though she could tell from even a brief glance at his expression that he didn’t think he was going to get one.

She let out a long, heavy sigh.

“My mother was with child.”

She waited, letting the words hang in the air, before she glanced at Wing out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at her, but not like he did when he was confused. Good. She didn’t know if monsters had babies like humans did, but either way, he seemed to know what she meant. She didn’t feel like explaining it. She looked away again and shrugged.

“I mean … it happens all the time. Most families have more than one child. But … usually they have them earlier. And I … I didn’t expect it. I was used to it being just me. And … they had known for a while, but she had only just started to show and I asked about it and … they told me …”

She swallowed hard and tugged her legs closer to her chest.

“I don’t know. It seems silly now …” She trailed off, biting the inside of her lip, smiling despite herself. “I got a sister. She’s a wonderful sister, she’s … she’s still so small, but she’s funny and pretty and she has the best smile I’ve ever seen …”

Ebba’s smile faded, and an old, dull ache formed in her chest. She lowered her head.

“But I thought she might be a boy. Before she was born,” she went on. She swallowed, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed. “And I think … I wondered … if they hoped she would be a boy. Because sometimes I’ve heard them talking about wanting to have a son and I thought maybe they were upset because when I was born, they _thought_ they had a son, but I … but I _wasn’t_ a boy, and they know that, but they _thought_ … just for a while … and I was afraid, if they had a boy, maybe they’d realize they didn’t want a daughter and …”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes, forcing the air in and out of her mouth. She squeezed her fingers to keep them from trembling and stared at the ground in front of her, memorizing every curve and crevice of the rock.

It took her a long time to work up the courage to look up, and when she did, she found Wing watching her with the same expression as before. Curious. Confused.

And this time, sad.

She didn’t like when he looked sad.

She started to tell him that it was alright, that he didn’t need to be upset for her sake. But before she could even get her mouth open, he had turned away and opened his own.

“Other skeletons —- —— me.”

Ebba had never hated not being a skeleton more than she did in that moment. Because it was still gibberish. Not all of it, but enough of it. They had been practicing for an entire _year_ now, and she still couldn’t …

She bit her lip and shook her head.

“I don’t … I can’t …”

“Other skeletons … not friend,” he cut in, meeting her eyes again, each word formed slowly and carefully.

Ebba’s mouth hung open for a moment before she forced it shut.

“You … don’t have any skeleton friends?” she asked. Wing looked away, and it was all the answer she needed. She swallowed. “But … you … I know I asked before, but … you _do_ have a family, right?”

Wing started to nod, but stopped halfway and shrugged instead.

“They’re your family, but … you don’t … get along?” she tried again. Wing pulled his legs closer to his chest. Like she had. “You don’t have to talk about it if it hurts.”

“You talk,” he muttered.

“That doesn’t mean you have to,” she replied, without missing a beat. He looked at her again. She tried to smile, but it probably looked as sad as it felt. “You … I wanted you to know.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up, then lowered again. He somehow looked sadder. He shook his head.

“—- fair. You talk. I … don’t talk.”

She didn’t have a response to that. She didn’t know how to tell him that it didn’t matter if he talked. She wanted him to talk, she wanted to understand him, but she only wanted him to talk if it made him happy.

“Friends.”

She jerked her head up when she heard him speak again. He was looking at her, straight at her, and there was a funny look on his face, one she had never seen before. Something soft, happy, even though he still looked a little sad.

“—- friends,” he repeated.

Ebba found herself smiling back, even through her confusion.

“Didn’t get the first word.”

He kept looking at her, eyes bright with something like expectation. And even though he didn’t make a single sign, or say another word, she understood him, without even trying.

“... best friends.”

His smile trembled, but he nodded, happy, despite the hints of pain still in his eyes. She bit back her own smile and leaned her head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh when she felt his skull rest against hers.

“Yeah, Wing. You, too.”

Wing’s fingers brushed her hand, and she took it and squeezed.

They didn’t say anything else about it. They didn’t need to.

Ebba was Ebba, and Wing was Wing.

That was all they needed.

*

“Hey, Wing?”

“Mm?”

“Why didn’t the skeleton go to the festival?”

“ _Ebba._ ”

Ebba laughed, the sound echoing around the cave until it reached her ears. “Nope, that’s not the answer! Try again!”

Wing made a face that looked a lot like a pout, even though he didn’t have a bottom lip to pout with. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. It looked about as threatening as it always had.

“Ebba, you’ve told this one at _least_ fifty times already.”

“Then you should know the answer by now!” she teased back.

Wing huffed and tried to look away, but she could just make out his mouth curling into a grin.

She had lost count of how many times they had had almost the exact same conversation. Not that she had been counting in the first place. It was the sort of thing that had started on its own, a long time ago, probably back when they first started meeting in the cave. Back then, she hadn’t been able to recognize a single word that came out of his mouth, but he used hand gestures to guess the punchlines of her jokes—and very rarely succeeded. The jokes, they found, helped her learn quicker, at least after she insisted that he actually speak the words he wanted to say instead of just gesturing.

He told her, once he had the words to do so, that he didn’t like the jokes, that they were silly, that they didn’t even make sense. But by that point, she had already been telling them for more moon cycles than she could count. She had picked up quite a few from Toriel. She liked them, and besides, as much as he grumbled, and she could tell that they didn’t annoy him that much.

It took a while after that before she was sure he enjoyed them as much as she did.

“Give up?” she asked, smirking. Wing grumbled and avoided her gaze. She grinned wider. “Because he had no _body_ to go with.”

She broke out into a fit of chuckles, but kept her eyes on him the whole time. He pressed his teeth together even tighter than before, his arms crossed so firmly that she thought they might disappear into his ribcage. But there was a glint in the whites of his eyes, a shaking to the line of his mouth she couldn’t miss.

“Laughing at your own jokes doesn’t make them funny.”

Ebba grinned wider and gave him a gentle shove. “Ah, c’mon, Wing, you think these are hilarious, I can see _right through you._ You’re laughing, don’t try to hide it.”

It had been a guess before, but as soon as she said it, his mouth pressed even tighter together, shaking harder, his eyelights brighter than ever, and she was sure.

“I am _not._ ”

“Seriously?” she asked, letting her chuckles fade as she tilted her head. “I’ve known you for more than three years now and you think I can’t tell when you’re pretending not to laugh? You’re terrible at keeping a straight face, you know.”

He pouted again. “Well, at least I don’t tell the same terrible jokes fifty times in a row.”

Ebba snorted.

“Uh-huh, right. I heard you joking around with Toriel last time I went to the village. You’re just jealous because I’m _better_ at them than you.”

“You are _not_!” he shot back, turning to face her with so much indignation it made her laugh again.

“Am too.”

“Are _not_!” he tried again. “All you do is make skeleton puns. You don’t even branch out! At least Toriel can tell jokes about just about anything that surrounds her, all you do is regurgitate the same old—”

“Wing,” she cut in. Her smile had vanished without her noticing, her eyes locked on him as she followed the movements of his mouth, listened to the echo of his words in her head.

Wing gave her an irritated look, crossing his arms and scowling.

“What?”

“I understood that,” she said, her body frozen as her own words sunk into her head.

Wing stared. He stared, and bit by bit, his arms dropped back to his sides, his sockets wider, his mouth hanging open.

“… what?”

“I understood you,” she repeated. The corners of her mouth tugged up at the corners. “Every single word.”

Wing kept staring. He didn’t usually blink—why would you blink if you didn’t have eyeballs?—but he blinked now, over and over, as if that might change what he was seeing. His eyelights had never looked so bright, or so wide. “You … you …”

Ebba just nodded.

When had it happened? How long had they been talking without her missing anything? She knew they had been getting close, she could understand almost all of his regular vocabulary, and she had already found herself picking up words he hadn’t made a conscious effort to teach her. But she still had to translate things in her head before she understood them. She still had to take a moment and focus before responding.

But now … it was almost like hearing her native tongue. It _wasn’t,_ and she knew that, but she hadn’t even been paying _attention_ and _still_ she understood him and …

“We did it,” she breathed, a laugh forcing its way out of her throat as she scrambled forward to grab him in a hug.

He just sat there, frozen, before she felt his bony arms wrap around her in return. Then they squeezed, tighter and tighter until she could barely breathe but she didn’t care because she could _understand_ him, every word, after three years of word games and repetition and listening to him babble on about anything and everything, she could _understand him._

“You did it,” he whispered, and she had never heard his voice sound quite so choked by tears.

They stayed there for a long time after that, holding onto one another—though Wing’s “hugging” was closer to “clinging.” And the whole time, even as her arms ached and her legs went to sleep, Ebba never stopped smiling.

Maybe they had nothing else in the world. But they had each other, and that was more than enough.


	2. Part II

Sometimes she tried to remember a time before Wing, but it seemed so far away that it almost wasn’t worth the effort.

She _could_ remember it, of course, even if it was fuzzy. But early on, she didn’t want to. And as the years passed, as she filled up more and more years with memories of her best friend, she found that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t.

She spent time around her family, around other humans, but not half as much as she spent with Wing. Unless she was called to some sort of duty, she ran off as soon as the sun rose in the morning, and stayed with Wing until it set again at the end of the day. During winter, when it was dark more often and the days were too short, sometimes they would sleep in the cave together, keeping warm near a fire and chatting about whatever came to mind. Sometimes she would wake up with Wing in her arms, cuddled against her. He always gave the excuse that he had gotten cold during the night. She never reminded him that he didn’t have skin to get cold with.

Perhaps sleeping close to loved ones wasn’t normal for skeletons, but Ebba had scarcely seen a human sleeping alone in her life. And despite him being hard and thin and sharp, she found him a good deal more comfortable a sleeping partner than most of her blood family.

Her family was still her family, she supposed. They were still her blood. But Wing was the family she held in her heart. Wing was the one she talked to about her dreams and aspirations, her thoughts about what she wanted to learn to be when she got older. Wing was the one who held her as she sobbed when puberty hit and her voice dropped no matter how hard she tried to keep it higher-pitched. Wing was the one who found her the perfect knife to shave away the new hair on her jawline, and healed her cuts when she slipped and nicked herself. Wing was the one who assured her that she was more than a body that didn’t suit how she felt, and to him, she would always be Ebba, no matter how things changed.

For more than a decade, he had been by her side. And though a part of her wondered what her life might have been like if she had spent more time with her blood family, with her people, with other humans, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single moment spent with her best friend.

This morning, as most mornings, she got up as soon as the sun rose and made her way toward the cave that had become just as firmly theirs as the village was the monsters’. It was routine by now, nothing special about it, at least to her. But she still felt her heart pick up a few beats as she neared their hideout. In a way, it always felt like coming home.

Well. If Wing was indeed her family, maybe it was.

She smiled a little wider and picked up her pace.

“Hey!” she called as she ducked into the cave and blinked to help her eyes adjust. She lifted her hand in a wave even as she struggled to see where she was going. “I found this really neat rock on the way here and I thought you might like to see it. You see? It’s really smooth on this side, but really rough here, and it’s got all these shiny parts that—”

She froze, mouth still open, rock gripped in her hand, as her eyes fell on Wing, sitting by the wall of the cave.

Curled up, his legs pulled up to his chest, his forehead resting on his knees as he hugged them tight.

Of course, just because it had seemed like an ordinary day to her, that didn’t mean it was for him, too.

“Wing?” she called out, quieter now, scrambling across the floor as fast as she could. “Wing, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. She stopped when she neared him, paused, then crossed the remaining distance to sit down at his side. He didn’t look at her. She tried to think of something else to say, but if she had learned one thing about Wing in the past ten—or was it eleven now?—years, it was that sometimes you just had to wait until he was ready.

So she waited. She sat close to him, almost close enough to touch. They had spent three years without being able to speak easily with each other. They could communicate just as easily without them.

“Someone in the village died.”

Ebba’s head jerked up as Wing broke the silence. She stared for a moment before the words sunk in. Her eyes went wide.

“Oh … oh, Wing …” She reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently through his tunic. She swallowed and thought for a second. “Did you know them?”

He didn’t look at her, but he leaned into her touch.

“Not really. We never talked much,” he said with a shrug. He curled up a little tighter. “They were our age.”

Ebba licked her lips. “Were they sick?”

“Humans killed them.”

It came out so quickly, so quietly, so unexpectedly, that at first Ebba didn’t realize what he had said. Then her eyes widened and her brow shot up, and she ran over the sounds in her head a few times just to make sure she hadn’t translated a word wrong.

“What?”

Wing pulled his knees closer to his chest, ducking his head to stare down at them.

“A bunch of humans caught them when they were out in the woods and … beat them. Until they dusted,” he said. It was barely more than a whisper, as if he were afraid of saying it any louder. He _did_ sound afraid. Anxious. Lost. He hadn’t sounded like that in almost ten years. He shifted. “We … we think it happened yesterday. Someone found their dust early this morning, and the … footprints around them.”

Silence. The cave had always been quiet, empty and just big enough for them, but now it felt like all the sound in the world had been sucked away, and they were left with nothing.

Nothing.

She wasn’t sure how long it took for Wing to turn his head to face her.

“Ebba?” he asked, and he sounded concerned, _concerned,_ concerned for _her,_ even when he … when they …

She let out a shuddering breath, pulling her hand to her chest as it clenched into a fist.

“Those … those _sick, horrible_ … I knew they were … I knew they were horrible, but I didn’t think they’d …”

She trailed off, her voice all but dying in her throat.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard them talking. Different members of her village, some older, some younger. They had been speaking ill of monsters for her whole life, and yes, it had gotten worse lately, but she hadn’t thought … she had heard some vague talk of people who wanted to hurt monsters. But it was always the sort of people who talked of a lot of things they would never actually do.

She should have taken it seriously. She should have found a way to warn the monsters, to keep the humans from … she should have …

She let out a long, trembling breath.

“I’m sorry, Wing.”

He gave her a funny look. “You didn’t do anything.”

“But I didn’t _stop_ them,” she tried again, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. “If I’d known, maybe I could have …”

“You couldn’t have fought them off,” he cut in as she trailed off. He laid a hand on her arm and gave it a careful squeeze. “They … they think there were at least five people. You couldn’t have stopped them.”

She turned her head away and pursed her lips. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit something. She was shaking. She shouldn’t be shaking. She was _fine._ It was the monsters who had been hurt. She didn’t deserve to …

“I might know them.”

She only registered it after it had left her mouth. She only _thought_ about it after it had left her mouth.

She shook her head, her breath speeding up.

“There aren’t any other villages close by, I … they were probably from _my_ village, Wing,” she breathed, biting back the whine trying to make its way out of her throat. “I _know_ them.”

“But you don’t know who they are,” he replied.

She might have been imagining it, but she swore she heard a hint of question, a hint of something like hope. She pursed her lips and shook her head. Wing’s shoulders fell, but he just nodded.

“It’s not your fault, Ebba,” he said, very gently, resting a hand on her shoulder even though it should have been _her_ comforting _him._ “I … I know you’d never do something like that. I know you would have stopped it, if you could.”

Ebba said nothing. But when Wing leaned his head on her shoulder, she pulled him close and held him, and they sat together in silence until the sun began to set.

When she finally got back to her village, she couldn’t bring herself to look her parents in the eye before she went to bed.

*

“I made this for you.”

Ebba looked up from her work and came very close to asking him whether he couldn’t even spare the time to say hello.

She had taken a seat near the entrance to the cave, so he didn’t have to come very far in to stand in front of her. He was later than she had expected. He had a funny gleam to both his eyes, even the droopy one, his mouth curled into a smile as he held something out in front of him.

She pushed herself to her feet, setting the rock she had been carving aside. “What is it?”

Wing handed her the object without a word. She held it in her palm, tilting it back and forth in the minimal light of the cave. It was small, not even as big as her hand, smooth and white, a symbol she was sure she had seen before around the monster village. She looked closer, and her brow rose.

“Did you make this out of bones?” she asked, a smile stretching across her face. “That’s so cool!”

Wing looked away and shrugged even as his mouth twitched into a smile of his own. He hadn’t looked this happy in a while. “There’s not really an official … way to do it, but I thought this would be enough.”

Ebba raised an eyebrow. “Enough for what?”

Wing met her eyes again, something like hope shining in his own.

“To make you an honorary skeleton.”

For a second, Ebba wondered if she had somehow forgotten how to understand Wing, and her mind was just filling in words for the gibberish she was hearing. Then she saw the look on his face, and she knew she hadn’t heard wrong.

“... what?”

Wing looked away again, as if he hadn’t heard her, as if he couldn’t see her staring. “I mean … I don’t know if it really means anything to anyone else, but it does to me. And I can tell everyone what it means. You’ve been more like a family to me than a lot of them ever were, and—”

“What do you mean, ‘honorary skeleton’?” she cut him off, forcing her hand to loosen around the little bone symbol before she broke it.

He looked at her again, his smile gone, his eyes confused.

“You … I mean you can be a skeleton.”

“But I’m not a skeleton,” she said, very slowly, wondering if he had somehow gone mad in the day since she had last seen him. “I’m a human.”

He gave her the same sort of look that she figured she was giving him.

“But … you’re not like them.”

“So?” she asked, a little more sharply. “You’re not like the other skeletons. That doesn’t mean you’re _not_ a skeleton.”

“That’s different,” he said, turning his head away.

“How?”

He fidgeted under her gaze. He glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, but never looked at her for longer than a moment at a time. “Humans are … you know what they did, Ebba, they’re _horrible._ ”

“I know,” she said, both gentle and biting at the same time. “I hate it. But that was only a few humans, there are lots of humans that don’t want to hurt monsters. Like me.”

“But the other humans _are_ hurting monsters,” he pressed.

She frowned.

“So what, that means because I’m human, I must be hurting monsters?”

“ _No!_ ” he burst, the closest to shouting she had ever heard out of his mouth. He started to talk, then paused, huffing a sigh and staring at the ground. “I mean … that’s why you should be a skeleton. Skeletons … maybe they’re not like me, but they’re not hurting anyone. So you can be one of us.”

Ebba curled her hands into fists, then forced them to relax again. She huffed out all the breath in her lungs.

“But I’m _not_ a skeleton. I’m a human. And giving me some little … bone thing isn’t gonna change that!”

He flinched, and she noticed his eyes locked on the trinket in her hand. She hadn’t crushed it—it was far more durable than that—but still she loosened her grip further and held it more gently.

He had made this for her. He had _made_ this for her, and that _meant_ something, but … but what it _meant_ was …

Wing shook his head.

“Ebba, why would you … _want_ to be one of them? They’re … disgusting, they’re _awful,_ they hurt monsters, they _killed_ a monster!”

“I know,” she bit out. “I hate it. You have no idea how much I hate it and I don’t want to be one of them but that doesn’t make me any less human.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” he shouted, and he was really shouting now, she didn’t even know he _could_ shout. “If you’re not like the humans, why can’t you just be one of the skeletons?”

She couldn’t hold back her scowl now. “Because I’m _not_ a skeleton! And you don’t get to decide what I am! _I_ decide what I am!”

“But why would you want me to be something so evil?!”

“Humans aren’t _evil,_ Wing!”

“Yes they _are_!” he barked. “They hate everything they don’t understand and they _kill_ people because they’re afraid of them and _I don’t want you to be one of them_!”

“Well I _am_!” she spat, taking a step toward him, making him move back. “And if you don’t wanna be around me anymore because I’m human, then … go. Get out of here, I don’t care!”

She spun on her heels and marched across the cave, dropping to her knees on the other side. She barely noticed the little bone trinket falling from her hand. She was shaking, harder than she had shook when that monster died, harder than she had shaken when her little sister was born, harder than she had shaken since she was a scared child coming into adulthood feeling her body change into something that wasn’t _her._

She didn’t know how long she sat there, sucking in air like she was drowning. She wasn’t sure whether she was imagining the footsteps making their way across the cave, careful, hesitant.

But she was sure she heard the gentle clearing of a throat.

“Ebba?”

Ebba ducked her head further, squeezing her arms around her legs. Bony feet shifted behind her, and even though there was no sound, she swore Wing was grinding his teeth.

“I’m … I’m sorry, Ebba,” he said, so gently, and that was Wing, that was _her_ Wing, the same Wing she had held in her arms more times than she could count, the Wing that had held her through her worst moments, who had been there for her no matter what. He shifted again. “I’m scared. I’m so … I’m so scared and I don’t know what’s gonna happen and if the humans hurt one monster then maybe they’ll hurt more and … and …”

He trailed off, his voice a faint whine. She lifted her head and slowly turned to look at him. But he was staring at the ground now, his arms wrapped around himself in a tight hug. He shook his head.

“My parents told me I shouldn’t come see you anymore. Because you’re human,” he went on, so quietly she had to strain her ears to hear it. “So I thought … if you _weren’t_ human … maybe they …”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Ebba waited a moment, then sighed.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Wing lifted his head and furrowed his browbone. “For what?”

“For the humans,” she said, without hesitation. She huffed, looking down at the bone trinket sitting on the floor of the cave before she huffed a sigh. “I … I hate it. I hate it so much and I wish … I just want them to understand monsters like I do, to stop … to never hurt them again, but …”

She pushed herself to her feet, her legs wobbling a little as she got her balance. She crossed the cave to stand in front of him, meeting his eyes even though he seemed to want to look away.

“I’m sorry they’re hurting you,” she continued. “I’m sorry they … they killed someone and I wish I could make it stop but I don’t know how, but I can’t just _stop_ being one of them and you always … you always loved me exactly the way I am. You never wanted me to be anything other than what I was.”

Wing just looked at her. She dropped her head to stare at her feet.

“And I’m human. I hate it, I wish I … I wish humans weren’t like this, but they _are_ and I _am_ and …”

She groaned in the back of her throat and clenched her hands into fists, shaking her head.

“I don’t know what to do, Wing. I can’t stop them. I’m just one me and I don’t ...” She sighed and forced herself to look up, squaring her jaw and setting her brow. “I want to help. Tell me what I can do to help. Please.”

Wing just stared. And she knew it must sound as ridiculous to him as it did to her. She couldn’t fight. She was no good at fighting, especially not against a large group of people, and besides, what if more of the village did things like this? What if it got worse? What if …

“I can get information,” she said, before Wing could even open his mouth to respond. “I can find out what the humans are gonna do, so you can make sure no one else gets hurt. So they … so they can’t …”

Wing just looked at her with something like sadness in his eyes. She would have done anything to make sure he never looked like that again.

He could have asked her to go back to the village and gather information right now, and she would have done it. But he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at her, and it took her an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was sad for her.

And all she could think was that she didn’t deserve it.

*

There were five more murders in the next fifteen days.

Four were monsters neither of them knew. One of them was Wing’s cousin.

Wing didn’t talk about them. It was like he felt like he would be making her feel guilty if she did.

She _did_ feel guilty, but Wing wasn’t the cause.

She listened in on the other humans’ conversations whenever she could, but it had been years since she had spent much time in her village, and it was almost as unfamiliar to her as it would have been to Wing. She didn’t know who to listen to. She didn’t know who would be planning the attacks—if the attacks _had_ been planned and weren’t just random people becoming violent.

She spent every free moment she had watching the people in her village, but she never got a single hint of who they were going to hurt next.

What she did hear, over and over, was how much the humans hated the monsters.

How much they feared them.

How much they worried about the legend, the tale of what would happen if a monster killed a human and absorbed their soul.

How certain they were that the only way for the humans to be safe … was to get rid of the monsters altogether.

She only heard the last one said twice. But that was twice in fifteen days, by someone listening in on random conversations without any sense of who could do the most damage.

And both times, everyone listening had agreed.

She had been silent about the issue for most of her childhood, even though she had refused any attempts to get her to stop spending time with the monsters. She had assumed there was nothing she could do to change the humans’ minds. But now she felt a fire burning inside of her, and it took all her willpower to stop from tackling them to the ground then and there.

She knew that making herself into a threat would only make them more likely to hide their plans.

She knew it wouldn’t help.

She still wanted to do it.

But she didn’t. She listened, and she waited.

It took more than twenty days from the date of her promise before she actually got the chance to keep it.

It was nothing she had overheard. No secret conversation she had listened to from a distance. It happened when she was walking back from meeting with Wing, and if the sun hadn’t already been mostly set, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

But the flames of several dozen torches were almost impossible to miss in the darkness of twilight.

She stood there for a moment, staring down from her spot above them on a hill, well out of sight. Stared at the people, their faces unrecognizable in the darkness, but their spears glinting in the light of their fires. Packed together, all heading in the same direction.

Away from their village.

Toward another.

Ebba spun around and ran.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had run so fast. Her chest burned, her legs ached, she knew she was pushing herself too hard, but she didn’t care, she had to get there, had to get back to the village, they were coming, she knew they would be slow but she felt like they were right at her heels, chasing her as well, and once they got there … once they got there …

The village appeared on the horizon, and she ran faster still, she almost tripped over a rock but she forced herself back up and kept going. Faster. Faster. Get there. Warn them.

She could hear people calling her name as she breached the edge of the village, but she didn’t stop, she turned her head from side to side, searching for a familiar face, someone who could help her, someone who would believe her, she knew she was a human they didn’t like humans but she had been coming there for _years_ and if they didn’t believe her …

A bony face caught her eye, and she stumbled to a stop only steps away from Wing and Toriel.

They had stopped when they saw her approaching, both staring at her, wide-eyed, confused. Ebba panted for breath, trying to get a word out but her throat burned too much to manage even a squeak. She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs, forcing down the pain as she struggled to remain on her feet.

She looked at them, and she looked back.

“Have to go,” she managed, though it was little more than a huff.

Wing blinked, glancing around at the other monsters nearby, that Ebba hadn’t even noticed coming to surround them.

It was one of the others that finally asked, “What?”

They knew her. She came to the village often enough, even if she spent most of her time with Wing. They had trusted her once. They _had_ to trust her now.

“They’re coming,” she said, a little more clearly. She glanced over her shoulder. “A whole mob, they’re … they’re …”

It was Toriel who finally crossed the distance and placed both her hands on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze as she stared down at her with those big, oddly comforting eyes.

“Ebba, breathe. Who’s coming?”

“ _Everyone_!” Ebba burst, sucking in a deep breath as she found her voice. “At least twenty of them, they’re … they’re coming, they’ve got torches, I don’t know what they’re going to … you need to get everyone out of here, they’ll …”

She trailed off. But that was all she needed to say.

In moments, everyone was on their feet, rushing around and calling for their friends and family. Before Ebba had time to think, there was a crowd around them, some carrying basic supplies but most empty-handed, scrambling away from the village like the humans were here already. Everyone was talking and Ebba couldn’t understand a word, she just kept moving, they _had_ to keep moving, they had to get away.

There was a woman—Filia, that was her name, Ebba had gone over to her house for a meal once, she had a little son—crying out someone’s name, struggling against another monster dragging her away, she was crying, _screaming,_ begging to be let go, there was someone back at the village, but Ebba could already see the crowd in the distance, the villagers, _her people,_ and they wouldn’t show mercy if Filia went back. And the monsters knew that.

So Filia’s cried were ignored, and the group moved on.

As they passed over the top of the nearby hill, out of sight, Ebba could just make out the flames flickering behind them.

They found a place to stay for the night. Camp was made, but no one slept. Ebba kept watch along the edges of the group, turning her head from side to side, searching for any sign of humans. None came. Wing stood at her side, his bones trembling, and as much as she wanted to, it didn’t feel right to hold his hand. Neither of them said a word the whole time.

The monsters returned at sunrise, Ebba and Wing trailing at the back of the group as they returned to what remained of their village. The ashes of the destroyed huts seemed to glisten with the early morning dew, and all Ebba could do was watch from a distance as every monster searched the ruins for anything they could scavenge from their homes. Even Wing left to join his family, but though he invited her to come along, she just shook her head and stayed where she was.

A short while later, she saw Filia, hunched over in a pile of ash, sobbing.

Even from a distance, Ebba could just make out the fine white dust spread over the ground around her. 

*

Ebba stayed there the rest of the day, helping where she could, filling baskets with belongings and crops that had survived. Anything the monsters could bring with them to their new home.

She didn’t have to ask to know they would not be coming back here.

There was far more ash than intact belongings, and there were far more damaged belongings than salvageable ones. But the monsters were—and apparently always had been—resourceful, and she overheard several conversations about how essential belongings might be replaced. She spoke very little herself. She felt like speaking, with her own human voice, would have been like stomping on a grave.

Toriel assured her, over and over, that she had been essential to their escape, and that they were grateful for her. She nodded, but none of the words sunk in.

She went back to her village after two days, but only briefly. She didn’t speak to anyone. Several people tried to speak to her, but she didn’t say anything.

She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to kill them, like they had killed Filia’s son.

But she knew that would only give them more of a reason to go after the monsters again.

She had heard the claims that she had been manipulated, even hypnotized by the monsters. And she knew that nothing she could do or say would change their minds.

Her parents only gave her sad looks. It was the first time in her life she had hated them.

She left again before she even said hello to her sister.

She helped the monsters move to their new village, just as silently as before. After another two days, Wing took her hand, without a word, and led her back to their cave. It seemed silly, pointless, now, but Ebba didn’t protest. The familiarity was nice, even though it felt wrong. She sat next to Wing, like she had sat next to him a thousand times before, and she tried to pretend that none of this had ever happened. It didn’t work.

When she finally spoke, the words seemed to fall from her lips without any thought.

“I wish I could be one.”

She could feel him turn to look at her, even though she didn’t move her own head.

“What?” he asked.

“A skeleton,” she murmured.

There was a silence, such a long silence that she wasn’t sure whether he had heard her, or whether he even wanted to respond.

“I don’t.”

Ebba stiffened. She tilted her head to look at him out of the corner of her eyes, though she couldn’t bring herself to turn to him fully.

“You don’t … want me to be a skeleton anymore?” she asked. Before he could respond, she shifted her head back and huffed a humorless laugh. “Can’t blame you.”

“No,” he said, as soon as she went silent. “I wish _I_ wasn’t a skeleton.”

Ebba sat up and looked at him.

“What?”

But Wing wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the ground in front of him, his sockets both emptier and sharper than she had ever seen them, burning with something that didn’t have a name.

“I wish I was a human,” he said. “So I could be strong enough to stop them.”

Ebba shivered against her will. She hesitated, then rested a hand on his shoulder.

“But if you were human … you’d be like them,” she replied. “You’d be awful.”

“No I wouldn’t.” He turned to face her, and the thing burning in his eyes faded, until all she saw was her own Wing again, gentle and loving and terrified. “You’re not like that. So maybe I wouldn’t be either.”

Ebba clamped her mouth shut and bit her lip. She tried to speak, but none of the words felt right, and finally she found herself just shaking her head, fighting back the burning in her throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Wing …”

But there was no anger in Wing’s eyes. No disappointment. No judgment. Just the same affection that had been there for a decade. He looked at her just as he had looked at her since the day she first correctly guessed one of the words he spoke, the day he realized that she cared enough to spend the time to learn to understand him, no matter how long it took.

“You helped us,” he said, quiet but fervent. “Even more people might have died if you hadn’t let us know they were coming.”

Ebba swallowed and shook her head again, drawing trembling breaths into her starving lungs as her vision began to blur.

“But I couldn’t save …”

Her voice broke, and she couldn’t make another sound.

The tears were streaming down her cheeks before she even realized they had formed in her eyes. She hardly noticed Wing’s arms slipping around her, pulling her to his chest. She clung to him without conscious thought. She fought back the sobs, but they came anyway, and she hated them, it wasn’t her place to cry, not when her people had done this, not when a child had died because she couldn’t stop it.

When she felt the tears dripping onto her own head, she only clung tighter.

As she sat there, breathing in the familiar scent of bones, she promised herself that this would be the last. That no one else would die because of her helplessness. That no one else would die because humans thought themselves better than monsters.

She already knew it was a promise she would not be able to keep.

She made it anyway.

*

“They still don’t want me to see you.”

The words came after a very long silence, as they tended to do nowadays. Ebba still came to meet Wing as often as she could—which was as often as before, even though it was more difficult to get away from the village without drawing suspicion. She couldn’t risk the chance of someone following her, seeing where she went. They didn’t know where the new monster village was yet, but it wasn’t exactly hard to find. It was only a matter of time before they found it, and attacked it, and she wasn’t going to do anything that might speed up that process.

But she couldn’t stay in her village.

She couldn’t stay with people who had tried to murder those she loved.

She met with Wing, but neither of them talked like they used to. Their old conversations seemed disrespectful somehow. Too casual in the face of something too grave. They had made jokes so many times over the years to lighten the pain of life’s hardships. When she first started growing facial hair and had to shave every day, they joked about various magical means of keeping the hair away permanently—and how sometimes she wished she was like him, without any hair at all, so none of it would get in the way. When he got frustrated with another monster who couldn’t understand him and forced him to sign to communicate, they joked about how difficult it would be for all the monsters to learn to speak like he did, and then all the humans, too.

This was different. This wasn’t a frustration, a temporary struggle.

It was the beginning of something very bad, and completely inescapable, and no amount of coping methods would make it any easier to face.

She looked at him at last, her movements slow, sluggish, as they had been far more often lately.

“Your family?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

He didn’t look up from the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees and his face twisted into something tight and pained.

“I just … they _know_ you helped us. They know you … you’re not like them,” he murmured, like he had to drag every word out from deep in his throat, like he was ashamed to say them. “They don’t believe me.”

Ebba huffed through her nose. “I don’t blame them.”

Wing’s head snapped to face her, both eyes wide.

“How can you say that? You _helped_ us. You’re the reason we got out of there safely.”

“I’m still a human,” Ebba all but snapped. They stared at each other for a few moments before she looked away again. “And they don’t know me like you do.”

“They barely know me either,” he replied. He said it like he had only just realized it, like he had gone all these years and never really _thought_ about it. He let out a long, heavy breath. “I don’t even know how to convince them. I don’t … I don’t know them.”

He stayed there, staring at his feet, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to do or say. She huffed a humorless laugh, and he looked back at up her, hesitant, almost ashamed.

“We’re quite a pair, huh?” she murmured, as much to herself as to him. He kept looking at her. She stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You know I’m not like that, Wing. That’s all I need.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line and lifted his head.

“You learned how I talk. You learned to understand me.” He swallowed and shifted his gaze away. “No one’s ever done that.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. “The other skeletons can understand you.”

“No they can’t,” he said, without a pause. He looked at her, _really_ looked at her, his eyes burning through to her soul. “They don’t understand what I’m _saying._ ”

Her throat ached, and her eyes stung, but she didn’t speak. He lifted his own hands and rested both on her shoulders.

“You’re the only one who’s ever understood me. You’re the only one who’s ever really tried.”

She didn’t even try to think of something to say. There were no words in her language, in any language, that would have felt right then. All she could do was stand there, silent and still, until he began to remove his hands from her shoulders.

Then she leaned forward and tugged him into a hug.

He took only a moment to hug her back.

He felt bony and awkward and fragile in her hold. She held him tighter, careful not to hurt him even though she wanted to squeeze him until they both were dead. She had never loved someone else so much in all her life as she did him, right here, right now.

Now, she was sure she never would.

* 

It was an ordinary day.

Everything important, everything that had built her life up and torn it apart, had always happened on an ordinary day.

She and Wing had promised to meet one another at midday to gather berries. It was an old tradition, one they had begun only a year after they met, back before she understand him properly. It was strange, to think of communicating with only gestures. But then again, it was also hard to remember a time before she could understand every expression that crossed Wing’s face.

She tried not to think about everything else that had changed since then. Today, it was just them. Today, they could forget, if only for a while.

Later, she would wonder if she had cursed the day with that thought alone.

She had almost arrived at the berry patch when a skeleton stepped into her line of view.

For the time it took her to blink, she thought it might be Wing.

But she knew Wing’s face better than she knew her own. And this wasn’t Wing.

This skeleton was shorter, if only a little, and wore a different tunic than the one Wing preferred, a little newer, a bit more decorated. This skeleton stood straight while Wing tended to hunch. And this skeleton had two identical sockets, rather than one that drooped lower than the other.

Two sockets that stared at her, the lights within them burning into her like needles piercing her skin.

She swallowed.

“Oh … hi.”

The other skeleton didn’t respond. They—he? Yes, he, she had seen this one before, even if it was briefly—just stared at her, his face blank, his mouth set into a tight line. She fidgeted and tried to smile.

“You’re … Garamond, right?” she asked. Still nothing. He was just … staring at her, as if she were supposed to know what he wanted to say just by looking at him. But she definitely knew his face now. Wing’s older brother. She swallowed. “I know we never really met properly, but … you know. You spend enough time around the monster village, you … learn to recognize people. Wing’s told me about you.”

She shrugged, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t even move. She might have thought there was something wrong with him, but … it didn’t seem like there was. He was definitely looking at her.

Now that she looked more closely, it felt like glaring.

She held herself a little taller and took a small step forward him.

“I’m Ebb—”

“You did it.”

Ebba knew that skeletons didn’t form words like humans did. They didn’t have tongues, or throats, or any part of their body that could make words physically. She knew that it was all magic, and that some skeletons didn’t even have mouths that opened. They just … made noise. So skeletons didn’t _need_ to open their mouths to talk.

But it still took her a few moments to be sure that Garamond had actually spoken.

“What?” she managed, as the words finally started making sense.

Garamond took a step toward her, his browbone creasing, his mouth curling into something like a snarl, even though he couldn’t part his teeth.

“You led them here,” he went on.

 _That_ she understood. And it hit her like a stone to the face.

“ _What_?”

“The humans,” he spat, taking another step. She wanted to move back, but her feet felt stuck to the ground. He wasn’t using magic on her, she knew what that felt like, Wing had showed her, she just … couldn’t make herself move. His eyes sharpened further. “They left us alone before you started coming here. I saw you going back and forth, all those years. Meeting my brother.”

Ebba swallowed, and felt an old ache resurface in her chest. Garamond wasn’t moving any more, but he was only about ten steps away from her now, his expression all but burning.

“You really think that’s a coincidence?”

Ebba opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, shaking her head.

“I … I didn’t _lead_ them there.”

“Then how do you explain it?” he snapped. Ebba started to speak, started to tell him that she didn’t do anything, that she hadn’t caused this, the humans had already hated monsters, they _knew_ where the village was, even if they never went there. But the words died in her throat.

She couldn’t say it.

Because … what if it was true? She had … she had considered it, somewhere deep in her head, but she hadn’t really _thought_ … but what if her going back and forth had drawn the humans’ attention? What if … that was what made them finally act? She hadn’t done it on purpose, she would _never_ have done it on purpose, but …

It hadn’t been intentional, but she knew that didn’t change the facts.

People had died. People had been killed.

“It’s your fault,” Garamond bit out, clenching his fists. “My cousin is dead because of you.”

Ebba swallowed. Her body shook, and she took a deep, trembling breath.

“Garamond, I …”

She barely saw the bone flying through the air before it smacked into her arm.

She stumbled, feeling her body weaken as she struggled to keep her balance. It was … she had _been_ hit before. And it didn’t feel like that. There was no residual sting, no oncoming bruise, just a vague ache where the bone had hit.

And her whole body, just a little weaker.

HP.

That was what Wing had called it, wasn’t it? And Toriel, she had talked about it, too. Humans had it, even if they didn’t know how to see it. But monsters could. And they could attack it directly.

They could attack … souls.

The thought had barely finished before another bone smacked into her, and she could feel it now, very faintly, she could _feel_ her energy going down. Something deep inside her, something her people didn’t even have a name for, she could _feel_ it beginning to die. It was slow, Garamond wasn’t very strong, but she could still feel it.

Another bone. And another. She stumbled back, but Garamond marched forward, summoning two bones, three, four, six.

“Stop it!” she cried as another rammed into her side, almost knocking the breath out of her. “Garamond, I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

But Garamond wasn’t listening.

“It’s _your fault_! _Your_ fault those monsters are dead!”

The next bone hit her forehead, and her hand flew to press against it as she bit back a whimper.

“I didn’t _do_ anything!” she tried again, but it was weak, tired, and the bones were still coming. “I just wanted to help!”

She wasn’t even sure he could hear her. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if not for you! And my brother … he barely even knows who we _are_ anymore, because _you_ keep him away from us!”

One bone. Two bones. Three. Four.

“I never kept him away from anyone!” she managed through clenched teeth. “He _wanted_ to be with me!”

The bones slowed, and she opened her eyes to look at him properly through squinted eyes. He was only about five steps away now, and he was shaking. She could hear his trembling breaths through his teeth.

“No,” he murmured, as much to himself as to her. “He wouldn’t betray his family. He wouldn’t betray his _species._ ”

Ebba gritted her teeth and glared, more than ten years of sympathy boiling up inside her and bubbling over the edge.

“How do _you_ know? You barely even _know_ him.”

She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. But before she could even think of a way to take it back, a way to do something, _anything,_ to make it better, she felt the bone hit her arm.

Then another, in her leg.

And another, right in her gut.

She opened her mouth, but another bone hit her in the head, and she stumbled back, her vision blurring before she shook it clear. Garamond stepped closer, summoning more and more bones, throwing them at her before she could even recognize they had appeared. She could feel her body weakening with each blow, she could feel something in her chest dim.

He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t slowing down. She couldn’t get away, she couldn’t make him stop, she couldn’t even get a word in between blows.

He was going to kill her.

He wasn’t going to listen to her. He wasn’t going to let her explain, if her explanations would have worked anyway. He was going to kill her.

She threw her arms out when the bones hit, trying to knock them away. They still hurt, but not so bad, some of the damage deflected by her movement. Garamond gritted his teeth and glared at her, but didn’t slow down. She took a step forward, holding herself more firmly on her feet, knocking bones away as fast as he could. She had never trained to fight, but neither had Garamond, and the closer she got, the less sure he looked.

But he didn’t stop.

She kept moving, knocking away the bones, trying to get a word in. Garamond’s sharp frown had faded, his breath was coming fast, he stared at her like _she_ was the one attacking, he threw bone after bone like a cornered child. She stopped a few steps away from him, holding up her hands, opening her mouth to ask him to _just listen._

And before the first sound could leave her lips, he leapt forward and tackled her to the ground.

He wasn’t heavy, but she wasn’t expecting it, and tumbled back onto the grass.

His hands were around her throat before she had time to move, even to process what he was doing. She tried to suck in one last breath, but his fingers tightened, cutting off her air, her mouth hung open uselessly and she couldn’t breathe, gods, she _couldn’t breathe._

He stared down at her, eyes burning even as tears formed around the edges.

He was going to do it.

He was going to kill her.

And Wing would …

Wing …

Fighting the dizziness, the darkness creeping in around the edges of her vision, Ebba whacked her hands forward, smacking Garamond’s face, chest, anything she could get to. Let go, just let go, _please._ She scrambled more desperately as the darkness crept further. Her vision began to fade, blur, she could barely make out Garamond’s face in front of her, but she could see her strikes hitting.

She lifted her legs with what little energy she had left and kicked as hard as she could. She curled her hands into fists and hit harder, barely even feeling the sting when her knuckles hit solid bone. She thrashed against his hold and hardly noticed when his hands let go of her throat. Air rushed into her lungs, but she kept kicking, kept whacking, get away, get _away,_ get him _off,_ she just wanted to … she just …

Ebba stopped.

Her vision came rushing back as she began to cough, sucking in air so fast it made her whole body ache. She blinked, over and over, harder and harder, trying to see what was in front of her, but there was nothing, the weight on top of her had disappeared, there were no hands around her throat, Garamond wasn’t …

She tried three times to push herself to her feet, stumbling every time, struggling to hold her own weight. She stared ahead of her, out in the distance, but she couldn’t see him, not even a sign, no bushes or trees he might have hidden behind. Nothing.

Garamond wasn’t there.

He hadn’t run off. She could see a good ways ahead of her, and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. He had just … disappeared.

Then she looked down.

And saw the dust scattered on the ground around her, sprinkled over her own clothes like freshly-ground flour.

Ebba jerked back, forcing herself to her feet after tripping several times in a row. She tried to brush the dust off her like she might brush away a hundred ants crawling on her arms, but it wouldn’t leave, it stuck to her clothes and her skin, Garamond, that dust was _Garamond,_ and she had … she had …

The sound of feet rustling against dead grass sounded behind her, and she spun around, almost tripping over her own feet.

And found another skeleton, maybe twenty steps away, eyes locked on her.

Locked on the dust all around her.

The air in her lungs trembled as it fell past her lips.

“Wing …”

It was barely a breathe, and she knew he couldn’t hear it from how far away he stood. He kept staring at her, his eyes painfully wide, his teeth parted in a shock she hadn’t seen since the first day she met him in his village.

She took a step forward, and he jerked back. She froze, but he didn’t stop moving, stumbling back, back, away, until he almost tripped over his own feet. He turned around in a stumble and ran, his movements shaky, his breath coming in trembling huffs she could make out despite the distance.

She reached out, she wanted to run after him, come back, _come back._ But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak.

All she could do was stand there, over a pile of dust, while her best friend ran from her, just like he had run from every other human who had ruined his life.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this story comes to a close! Thanks, everyone!!
> 
> Be sure to check in next Wednesday for the beginning of _Falling Up_ , Chara's story.

She didn’t try to go back to the monster village.

She wanted to. Gods, she wanted to, to tell Wing she didn’t mean it, she was sorry, she didn’t want to hurt anyone, she didn’t want to …

But she didn’t. She stayed in her village, silent, rarely leaving the hut that no longer felt like hers.

Her mother tried to speak to her, once or twice, but Ebba didn’t respond. A few years ago, she would have never thought she could feel such malice toward the woman who had cared for her when she was young. She had loved her. She had never spent much time with her, but she had loved her so much.

But her mother had … _all_ of them had … even if she hadn’t done anything herself, she had just stood by and let them …

She considered, very briefly, telling her about Filia, and her lost child, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Her father and sister just let her be.

Seven days later, she woke up in the middle of the night to the flicker of torches just outside her hut.

It took a second for the sight to register, but as soon as it did, she scrambled up and out of her bed and ran outside, waving her arms, shouting, even though they had already passed her, their faces aimed toward the west.

“Please, _please_!” she begged, grabbing the arm of the closest man and tugging him back. “Please, don’t hurt them!”

She cried, she pleaded, but the men just shook her off, and the women gave her sad looks before continuing on their way. She tried to run after them, she grabbed a weapon, something small, the first thing she found, and she ran after them, ran past them, only to stop after only a few steps.

Had they found them? Had they really found where the monsters were staying now?

Or were they just waiting for her to lead them?

They passed her, and she stood frozen, lost, unsure.

If she passed them, if she ran ahead, she would just be leading them to the monsters. And this time … maybe they wouldn’t have time to escape.

Maybe someone would run after her, follow her when she led the monsters away.

It would be a chase, a chase for which the humans were prepared. But the monsters weren’t.

If she tried to help … she would just risk hurting them more.

So all she could do was stand there, her legs shaking, as she watched the humans walk toward the horizon.

She wasn’t sure when she returned to the village, but it was almost dawn before the warriors reappeared.

She could see white dust on some of their clothes.

But from the looks on their faces, the dust had not been from very many.

Ebba went back to her hut and sobbed.

She could hear them talking, but she didn’t listen. She wasn’t sure she _could_ listen anymore. Even if she heard what they were saying, even if she tried to warn the monsters … would they believe her? Or would they chase her off, try to kill her like she had killed … like she had …

And if someone saw her leaving, if they followed her again, _it’s your fault they came because of you you got them killed._

So she did nothing.

She sat in her hut and cried and waited.

A few days after that, warriors from another village arrived.

And another, soon after.

She watched them sharpen their weapons, listened to them plan their attacks, prayed that this was just a nightmare even though she knew it was far too real. They knew that if they had come this far, they weren’t going to back down. They weren’t going to come home after one night after killing only a few. She knew that nothing she could do would stop them.

But that didn’t stop her from trying, just one more time.

She approached them without any real thought as they sat around the fire, laughing and going on about something she already knew she didn’t want to hear. They turned as she approached, and she watched their faces fall even before she even opened her mouth. Even the visiting warriors seemed to have heard of her.

She didn’t care, and she didn’t stop.

She was barely aware of the words leaving her mouth as she begged, _demanded_ that they give this up, that to attack the monsters was to murder an innocent race, they were only a small village, they were no threat, just let them live in peace and everything would be fine.

She wasn’t sure when their expressions shifted from exasperated to confused.

She wasn’t sure when she finally trailed off, just as lost as they were.

The warriors looked between one another, then back to her at last.

“Haven’t you heard?” the closest man asked, looking at her with a furrowed brow. “They’re gathering, too. All the monster villages, banding together. Some have even come from over the sea. So we must do the same.”

Ebba stared, her mouth open, trying to think of a suitable response. But she didn’t get the chance to give it. The man shook his head and turned back to the group, returning to their conversation as if she had never spoken at all. Ebba stood there, silent, frozen, her hands shaking as she struggled to accept the facts that were beginning to settle in her head.

They were going to war.

Monsters and humans.

Not just battles. Not just isolated attacks.

A _war._

How was she supposed to stop a _war_?

For a few days after that, she did nothing. She waited, and she watched. She watched even more warriors arrive, and she imagined the monsters gathering their forces as well, trying to pull together one last chance at survival.

Because if they fought, they would die. They knew that, and so did Ebba.

She waited until she heard them talking of starting out to battle. She waited until the sun had set on the last day of peace. She waited until the end of the celebration, the feast, the ceremony to ask the gods for victory. She waited as the warriors slept, as she sat by the smoldering fire.

And as soon as the sun began to peek over the horizon, she pushed herself to her feet and walked to her family’s hut.

She knew her mother wouldn’t be there. She always left early to gather berries before the birds could get to them, and her sister usually went with her. But she could hear her father even from a distance, packing up his weapons and dried food. She lingered for a moment outside, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Then she stepped in.

Her father stood with his back to her, his long hair tied back and decorated with beads, warriors’ paint on his arms and legs. His bag was almost full now, and he tugged the string to close it, glancing around the hut as if to check for anything he might have missed.

Ebba swallowed hard.

“Father.”

He must have heard her come in, but he still jumped at her voice. He turned around almost comically slowly to face her, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Ebba?”

How long had it been since she had heard him speak? How long had it been since he had heard _her_ speak?

She didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. She held her head high and stepped the rest of the way into the tent.

“Please. Please, don’t do this,” she said, and she could feel her resolve twisting from a demand into a plea, this was her father, the man who had cared for and protected her when she was small, he had changed, he had grown, they all had, but he was still her father, he _had_ to help her. She stared at him, letting her eyes burn, stepping a bit closer. “They’re not … they’re not dangerous, whatever you think of them, it’s a lie, they—”

“They tried to kill you.”

Ebba had imagined a hundred possible responses before she arrived at the hut, even if she hadn’t given them much thought. Most of them weren’t good, and she knew that the good ones were far more unlikely. But those words, spoken so quietly she almost missed them, hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“… what?”

Her father stared back at her, his lips burned, his eyes hard. “They manipulated you, and then they tried to kill you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ebba burst, stepping forward again.

Her father’s jaw set into a tight line.

“That skeleton. One of the villagers followed you.”

Ebba blinked. Then her brow furrowed.

“You had me _followed_?”

“Not me,” he said. She knew how to tell when he was lying. He wasn’t. He lowered his gaze. “I don’t know who. But someone followed you, and they saw it. They were going to step in before you …”

“Before I killed him,” she finished, a few moments after he trailed off.

His head snapped back up.

“You defended yourself. That monster tried to _murder_ you. You fought back, and you won,” he all but snapped back. His lips pressed tighter together. “And if you hadn’t …”

Silence. Ebba brought her arms closer to her body, but still stood tall. Her father sighed.

“Everyone has always known they were no good. They have powers, Ebba, powers we can’t even imagine! Do you know what would happen if they got one of our souls?”

Ebba huffed. “Yes, Father, I’ve heard the stories, but they’ve never _done_ that—”

“They’ve also never tried to kill one of us before—”

“Only after we _attacked_ them!” she spat.

“I can’t let it happen again!” he shouted, so loud she jumped back, stumbling before she caught her balance again. He stared at her, huffing, his hands curled into fists and his eyes burning with something between anger and fear. He dropped his head to stare at the ground. “I can’t … none of us can. None of us can risk losing one of our people. One of our _children._ ”

He gritted his teeth and huffed his breath out through them, shaking his head.

“If that monster had killed you … not only would you be dead, but that monster would have your soul. He would have gained unimaginable power. And if he was willing to go after you, what would stop him from going after all of us? Going after every human in this village? From killing every single one of us?”

He looked up to meet her eyes again, and now, he just looked sad.

“We can’t risk that, Ebba,” he finished, as quiet as a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Then he picked up his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and strode past her, out of the hut.

“Father!” she called after him. He ignored her. He kept walking, and even though the hut’s opening, she could already see several other warriors stepping out to join him.

In a few moments, they had all disappeared, gone off to meet the rest of the group. To meet the rest of the army, ready to take the monsters by storm.

And Ebba was left standing there, helpless, hopeless, and alone.

* 

Ebba had heard of wars. Wars of generations ago, small wars, large wars, wars of legend. They were tales of glory and grandeur, tales of triumph, tales of bravery and strength.

And she had believed them.

But there was no glory in war. No grandeur, no triumph, no bravery or strength.

War was pain. War was violence. War was screaming and blood and dust and children crying for their mothers and massacres and the silence of a battlefield after everyone has been wiped out. War was loss and tears and the ache of her throat as she begged for them to stop, as she all but rammed herself into the warriors, sometimes throwing them to the ground only for another human to step in and kill the monster whose name she didn’t even know. War was searching for one friend’s face even though she knew he hated her, searching for him so she could protect him, searching for him so that she could at least know he was still alive, but at the same time grateful she never saw him because if she didn’t see him then maybe he had managed to hide.

War was death. Pointless, stupid death.

War was hating the humans that had once been her people.

War was knowing that she would never see her true family again.

The wars in the stories had been long, sometimes nearly unending, filled with years of fighting and strategizing. But that was war between two peoples, equally matched.

From the day of the first battle between the humans and the monsters and the moment the king stepped forward with an unconditional surrender, Ebba counted eight days.

Eight days, and everything she had known and loved since she was six years old was ripped away for good.

* 

She had seen human magic before.

Not often. She knew some humans who could do magic, but it was different, and she had spent so much time with monsters throughout her life that she was far more familiar with monster magic. Human magic was powerful, of course, in its own way, but there was something about monster magic that struck her as far more … special.

But that didn’t mean human magic wasn’t a sight to behold.

If it had been in any other circumstances, she might have marveled at it. If it had been in any other circumstances, she might have turned to Wing at her side and pointed out how amazing it looked.

But this wasn’t any other circumstances.

And Wing wasn’t at her side.

She didn’t even know if he was still alive.

She had lost count of how many skeletons she had seen die. She had lost count of how many _monsters_ she had seen die. Rarely could she get close enough to see which monster it was that was attacked, and they turned to dust mere seconds after the killing blow struck, so she never got the chance to confirm it.

She hadn’t seen how many monsters had survived. They had been forced inside the mountain before she could catch even a glimpse. And now … now she would never know. She would never see them again.

Wing was gone.

He was either dead or … he was behind that barrier.

A barrier that would never break.

A barrier that would never let anyone out.

He was going to be down there forever.

She was never going to see her best friend again.

She knew he hated her. She knew he … would always hate her. But now there wasn’t even a _chance._ If he was still alive, he was going to be stuck down there with all the other monsters and there was nothing she could do, she didn’t know magic, and certainly not magic _this_ powerful.

But that didn’t stop her from climbing the mountain to see it for herself.

It didn’t look like magic. It didn’t look like … anything at first glance. She didn’t even notice it. She knew where it was. She had tried to follow the humans mages who put it up, tried to stop them, even though she knew it was useless. But now the initial glow had faded, and it was as if the barrier didn’t _want_ her to see it, as if it tried to draw her attention away every time she got close, forcing her to look elsewhere.

But she didn’t stop looking, and there was only so much the barrier could do to stop her.

She stood there, staring at it, trying to peer through even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to see past it. There were people in there. Hundreds of people, maybe more, all the monsters left in the world were _in that mountain_ and she was _right there_ but she couldn’t …

Her feet itched, her breath coming faster and faster, her arms curling in close to her body.

Her best friend was in there.

Her _family_ was in there.

And … she had heard the people talking. Monsters couldn’t get past the barrier, not from inside, but … humans could still get in. Anyone on the outside could still get in.

She could go through it. She could … she could help, she had to help, she could …

But what could she do?

She was one person.

And she had heard the mages, too. She had heard them warning the villagers not to go near the barrier.

If you went through the barrier, you couldn’t get back out.

Not without taking a monster soul with you.

And she wasn’t letting anyone else die. Not for any reason.

Seven souls. It had taken seven mages to erect the barrier, so it would take seven souls to break it. Seven human souls. Where were they supposed to get seven human souls? Where was _she_ supposed to get seven human souls?

There were plenty of humans. But it wasn’t like they would willingly offer their souls.

And they couldn’t be separate, anyway. They would have to be absorbed into a single being to crush the barrier all at once.

Absorbed. Humans couldn’t absorb other human souls.

But monsters could.

But … there were no humans down there. And none would ever go down there, none would ever get close, not with the warnings that had been given to the village.

If she wouldn’t to get them out, if she wanted to help them, she would have to …

Could she do that? Could she even _think_ of doing that? She hated her village. Sometimes she thought she hated all humans, after seeing what they had done, what they had done to the people she _loved_ … but she had never killed, and the thought of throwing someone down there, throwing _seven people_ down there to be killed for their souls …

And even if she _did_ manage it … she couldn’t hide the deaths of seven people. The villagers would come after her. They would come after the monsters. Even if she just took one person, if there was any sign that the monsters were responsible, even if it was _her_ who had really done it …

The monsters couldn’t get out of the mountain. But humans could get in.

And if they thought the monsters were hurting humans, if they thought the monsters were still dangerous … they could still go in after them.

They could still finish what they had started.

She couldn’t get them out on her own. But she couldn’t break the barrier. Not the way it was meant to be broken. No one would help her. No one inside the mountain, no one outside. She was on her own. For the first time in her life, it was just her, no Wing, _no one_ was on her side, she couldn’t do this, not by herself, she didn’t know what to do, she wasn’t strong enough, she couldn’t … she couldn’t …

No.

_No._

If that had been her down there … if she had been trapped … Wing would have found a way. He would have thought of something. He would have freed her. Maybe he wouldn’t now, but … he would have before. For eleven years, he had stood by her side. And she couldn’t abandon him. No matter how hopeless it seemed. No matter whether he believed in her anymore.

She would find a way.

She didn’t care how long it took. She would keep looking. She would find a way to get them out, to get _Wing_ out, even if he always hated her. Even if he never spoke to her again. She wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t give up. As long as she was alive, she would keep trying.

And if it took her the rest of her life, if she died without ever finding a solution …

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she looked up at the mountain again.

No. She would do this. She would get them out of there.

She would help her best friend.

One way or another.

*

“You don’t have to come with me. I know it’s difficult for you to move around.”

Nelda chuckled, shaking her head but smiling at the young man walking several steps ahead of her. Never far enough to leave her behind, but enough that he could test the ground and ensure that there was nothing that would make her trip or stumble.

“I know that, dear,” she replied. “I am still coming.”

He paused, looking back at her—it was odd how the slope of the mountain could make him look so tall. Or maybe she just wasn’t used to him being grown.

“You shouldn’t strain yourself,” he tried again.

She gave him an amused, yet slightly irritated look. “I think I know my own body’s limitations, Hedron.”

“Grandmother …”

Nelda sighed and let her smile fall at last, her eyes dropping to the pot in Hedron’s hands.

“She is my sister. And I will be there to lay her to rest.”

Hedron gave her an uncertain look, but finally nodded and continued up the mountain. She followed, ignoring the aches in her arms and legs. She was old. She knew she was old, and she was proud of the years she had lived. But that didn’t make it any easier to ignore the pains that came with age.

Her grandson had offered to hold her arm, but she was as proud as she was old, and she was only going to climb this mountain once. She could do it on her own.

“I thought you two weren’t speaking,” he spoke up again.

Nelda hesitated.

“We … did not speak often, but there was no ill will between us. Not on my part, at least. I believe she may have held some toward me.”

Hedron didn’t say anything to that, and Nelda let the conversation fall to silence.

They were already a good ways up the mountain. They weren’t going to climb to the top—that would take far longer, and it was very cold, and Nelda didn’t know if her old body would take her the rest of the way—but she wanted to make sure they were high enough. She didn’t know why it mattered so much. But she got the feeling it would have mattered to her sister.

“Why do you want her to be buried here?” Hedron asked after a long while. He somehow managed to keep walking at a decent speed even as he turned around to speak to her. He was still so young, even though he had been grown for years, even though he had children of his own now. She could hardly remember what it was like to be so agile. “If … if you hold nothing against her, would you not want her to be buried with the rest of the family?”

Nelda pursed her lips.

“She would not want to be buried with the rest of the family. That, I am sure of.”

Silence again. She didn’t like the silence, not with her grandson. He was so talkative, so interested in everything around him, and she didn’t like situations that made him quiet. But at the same time, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Hedron, of course, filled in for her. This time, though, he looked away.

“People speak ill of her. Often.”

Once, that might have made Nelda’s chest ache. It might have made her think of her vague memories of the girl who had played with her, even if she had been gone most of the time, somewhere no one talked about. It might have made her remember the girl who had been so happy, then so angry. So angry that it had never really gone away. Now, it didn’t make her feel anything.

“And what do you think?” she asked.

Hedron looked at her, blinked, then looked away again.

“I … I never spoke to her,” he said, quietly, gripping the pot a little tighter. “I don’t think she liked me very much.”

Nelda’s shoulders softened, and she forced herself to go a little faster, just enough to reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“She held nothing against you,” she replied, drawing his attention back to her. “I am even more certain of that. She loved you, even if she never said so.”

He peeked up at her through his thick hair and gave a shy smile. It didn’t matter how old he became. In her eyes, he would always be that little baby she could cradle in her arms.

They walked in silence again. Comfortable silence. Hedron never moved more than a few steps ahead of her, and he held her hand to help her climb over a pile of fallen rocks they passed. Nelda tried to appreciate everything around her. It was the first time she had made this trek, and it would, without a doubt, be the last. Her sister may have been almost seven years her senior, but Nelda had a feeling that her own time was not far off.

She was not afraid of death. But she did hope that she would be able to enjoy life a bit more before she passed.

“Did she not believe the stories?”

Nelda’s head all but snapped up. She blinked.

“Stories?” she asked.

Hedron looked away.

“My father told me when I was young that … I should never climb the mountain. That if I did, I might never return,” he replied, slowly, carefully, as if afraid he might offend her. He bit his lip. “But your sister climbed it all the time, so I … wondered if it was just an old tale.”

Nelda stiffened and set her brow.

“Your father was right. You should never climb the mountain. Not without me. Not after this. It is dangerous.”

It was sharper than anything she had said in a while, and her chest twisted at her grandson’s flinch. He knew she would never really chastise him, never harshly. He knew that if she said something in such a harsh tone, it was because she was afraid, not angry.

And indeed, a moment later, the anxiousness was gone, and the curiosity that had made her adore him so much as a young child returned.

“Why is it dangerous? What’s up here?”

Nelda lowered her head, walking a little faster, but though she didn’t look up, she could still feel his eyes locked on her.

“Grandmother?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, sighed, and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter what’s up here,” she said, far more gently this time. “It is … none of our concern anymore.”

In the back of her mind, she could still see the figures in the distance. The figures she had never known, the figures that had disappeared under the mountain so many decades ago.

The figures Ebba had defended so avidly, right until the moment they were locked away.

“Why did your sister come up here?”

She could still see Hedron out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t turn to face him. She looked around at the mountain she had seen thousands of times, but never quite this close. Her face softened, almost without her notice.

“I think she was looking for something.”

“Did she find it?” Hedron asked.

This time, Nelda didn’t even try to respond. She looked at the ground and kept walking.

“My daughter calls it Ebba’s Mountain, you know,” Hedron said, very quietly, after the silence had stretched on so long it was beginning to make Nelda uncomfortable once more. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t need to. “Some of the other children do as well. She’s like a legend now.”

Nelda chuckled without humor.

“She would hate that.”

Hedron didn’t reply.

They climbed a little higher, Nelda turning her head from side to side, searching for any spot that would suit her sister. She didn’t know what she was looking for. It wasn’t like she knew her sister all that well.

She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she knew when she found it.

She stopped, and Hedron stopped, too.

“This place is good,” she said. Hedron stared at her for a moment, then, with a brief nod, knelt down, took a tool from the pouch at his side, and began to dig.

The pot wasn’t very large, so the hole didn’t need to be very big. Besides, Hedron was very skilled at digging, and he made some of the best tools in the entire village. Nelda tried to help once, but Hedron insisted on finishing it himself. She couldn’t tell whether it had more to do with her age or with his own pride in being able to contribute when he had never known his great aunt very well. She just smiled, a little sadly, and watched him finish.

He settled the pot very carefully in the hole and pushed the dirt on top of it, patting it down so it would be secure. Then he stood up, wiping his hands on his tunic and turning to face her. She smiled—this time, for real.

“Thank you, Hedron. For doing this,” she said. “I know none of your siblings would have been willing.”

He winced, but nodded.

“Of course, Grandma.”

He looked back to the covered hole before turning to her with a questioning brow.

“Is there … any ceremony …?”

Nelda paused. Then she lowered herself to the ground, biting back a groan as her old body protested at the movement. She rested a hand over the dirt and closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she believed that her sister was still there, in any sense. She wasn’t sure that she would want to be there. But still, she kept her hand firm.

“I hope you found them, Sister,” she whispered. She didn’t get a response, but she wasn’t waiting for one. She opened her eyes and pushed herself back to her feet, Hedron stepping in to help her when she wobbled. She straightened herself and gave a decisive nod. “Alright. That’s fine.”

“Good,” Hedron murmured. He sounded sad. Nelda didn’t ask why.

She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, letting her love for him burn in her eyes as she did her best to smile.

“Let’s go home.”

Hedron smiled back, a little more shyly, and nodded.

Nelda turned and started back down the mountain, but Hedron stayed where he was. After a few steps, Nelda stopped and looked over her shoulder, only to find Hedron kneeling over the spot in the ground, staring down at it with the same sort of expression she imagined had been on her own face.

He licked his lips, and hesitated, but finally spoke, just loud enough for her to make out.

“Rest well, Great Aunt Ebba.”

He laid his hand on the ground, closed his eyes, and took in a long, deep breath.

Then he got up and followed her back home.


End file.
